Golden
by lights-on-the-lake
Summary: "John, help me, please! They've got me!" Mary screamed into the phone, sobbing on the other end. John rushed out of the flat, shoving his hand through his jacket. "Mary, I'm coming for you, please, don't worry!"


"John, help me, please! They've got me!" Mary screamed into the phone, sobbing on the other end. His hand shaking, he tried to keep his voice calm as he pulled on his jacket and sprinted down the stairs from his flat to the street.

"Mary, it'll be okay. I'm coming to find you. Don't worry!" John reassured, hailing a cab. Fear shook through him and he could barely keep the phone steady. On the other end of the phone, Mary's scream cut off as the phone disconnected.

John redialed her cell number, but it went straight to voicemail. "Shit," he swore under his breath. His hand shook and he tried not to break down. The cabbie was looking at him in the rearview mirror, concerned expression on the old man's face.

"Scotland yard, sir," John ordered, his head leaning against the cold glass. He closed his eyes for half a second, breathing in deeply. The deep London night shone through the window, and for a moment John was sure he would lose composure.

After another second to breath, he picked up his phone again. It took two rings for Lestrade to pick up. "Greg, they have Mary." John said immediately, before Greg could say a word. John could tell by Greg's silence that he didn't understand what he said. "They. Have. Mary." He repeated into the phone, voice thick with grief. John took a shaky breath, letting it out slowly as Lestrade spoke.

"I'll have someone trace her mobile. Come down to the station, and tell me everything you know,"

Lights flickered against the walls.

_Why is the telly on?_ Sherlock almost voiced aloud, turning his head to the empty chair beside him. Being in 221B again was making him realize that he had no John, not anymore. With a deep sigh, he leaned back in the chair again, eyes closed. He could not even muster up the strength to raise his hands to place them together.

A buzz came from his right. _Phones are so useless, _he thought, his head lolling to the side to glance at his phone. Sherlock groaned, snatching the phone from the arm of his chair and opening the message.

I've got something you want. –JM

Sherlock held the phone for a long time, gazing at the text. It meant many things, and most importantly, that Sherlock was not the only one who could escape death. _It also means it could affect John, this battle is not over, I probably cannot do it on my own, he knows I am in London again, his last game might still be in effect, I might get John killed…_

The possibilities were endless and each one seemed more horrible than the last, even for stoic Sherlock. He closed his eyes again, fingers tapping against the chair. His response needed to be short, precise, not give away information, not show how interested he was…

What do you expect in return? – SH

_Good. Perfect. Just what I need. _Sherlock still did not move, waiting for the response. Could two people both cheat death? It was something Moriarty would do, but it seemed unlikely. It could be a faux. It could be a joke, it could be –

The phone buzzed.

Turn on channel 67. It's your first clue. – JM

Sherlock dove for the clicker, hastily changing the channel. It was a children's station, and a cartoon of Little Red Riding Hood skipped through the woods.

Back to fairytales? Unoriginal. – SH

He tapped his foot, watching Red getting cornered by the wolf. Something was substantially wrong here.

John sat, silent, staring at the floor in Greg's office. Donovan and Lestrade were outside, talking in hushed voices and occasionally glancing at John. The worry on their faces was clear, and after a bit they nodded to each other and turned back to walk into the office. Donovan slowly opened the door. She had not said "told you so" to John after… the fall. It was a small grace he had not noticed until now.

"I can see you both watching me," John snapped before Sally had a chance to speak.

The comment had cut her down. She gapped at him a moment, lost. Greg spoke up next. "We have everyone free looking for Mary,"

John slowly shook his head. "That isn't enough. It isn't about Mary, it's about me, it's what Moriarty wants-"

"John," Donovan interjected, grabbing his shoulder. She looked down at him, eyes condoning. "Moriarty is dead."

John stared up in defiance. "Obviously not," he bit, standing up. "It's not enough for me to just sit here. I have things to do," he snapped, grabbing his coat and storming out of the office, out into the cold night.

He whipped out his phone in the cab, calling the next person. He had not dreamt of doing this before now. John's vow of silence was not important anymore. This was about Mary, and Mycroft didn't mean to hurt Sherlock. John needed a friend. "Mycroft," John pleaded hurriedly into the phone, "You have to help me."

The man took a long moment to reply. "I presume it is because of my brother?"

John visibly flinched. The pain was evident in his voice when he replied. "Sort of. Mary has been kidnapped, most likely because of Moriarty." John to a shuddering breath in. "I need to find her."

A soft chuckle came from the earpiece. "I understand. I- I understand it perfectly,"

"Thank you," John answered in a breathless whisper, leaning his head back against the cab door. "I think Moriarty is behind it. Please, you've got to help me."

"I'm going to help you," Mycroft reassured, his voice soft and kind. John felt that he really meant it. It calmed John a bit, to hear Mycroft prattle on about how he would help. It fell short of listening to Sherlock, but John only heard Sherlock's voice in his sleep.

John, however, did not sleep that night.


End file.
